


take me home, from underneath the ice

by okaystop



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Hockey, First Kiss, First Meetings, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Hockey, Hockey AU, Ice Skating, Kid Fic, M/M, Meet-Cute, single dad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2019-11-29 00:42:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18215876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okaystop/pseuds/okaystop
Summary: Tommy didn't often have a chance to simply enjoy skating. Not that he didn't enjoy his profession, the time he spent on the ice as star goalie for the Boston Bruins, it was just that, as goalie, he didn't get to skate like this, and skating was what got him into hockey in the first place, so many years ago.





	take me home, from underneath the ice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alotofthingsdifferent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alotofthingsdifferent/gifts).



> You had a _lot_ of really awesome prompts in your requests, alotofthingsdifferent, and honestly I could write so many of them but there was just something about "hockey AU" and "Tommy Vietor, hockey bro!" that begged me to write it.
> 
> A few caveats, while I love hockey (let's go Pens!), I don't know all of the ins and outs of the NHL and such so please handwave any details that are completely wrong. It's fiction, so ... Also, I picked Boston only because it made the most sense canon-wise, and not because I like the Bruins (again, let's go Pens!). 
> 
> Title from "Underneath the Ice" by Simple Minds.
> 
> Please, please, please keep it secret, keep it safe. Thank you!

Tommy didn't often have a chance to simply enjoy skating. Not that he didn't enjoy his profession, the time he spent on the ice as star goalie for the Boston Bruins, it was just that, as goalie, he didn't get to skate like _this_ , and skating was what got him into hockey in the first place, so many years ago.

He pulled his winter cap farther down over his ears, already covering his eyebrows, and shoved his hands into his pockets as he made another turn around the rink, picking up speed. He didn't have gloves with him. He hadn't expected to have the morning free and discover an open outdoor ice rink walking distance from his hotel. At least he had the hat.

The ice wasn't great. One of the things Tommy liked most about outdoor rinks was this sense of being weathered, real, not as smooth, temperature-regulated, or perfect as the rinks he skated on every day otherwise. Even the ice rinks built for the Winter Classic games were NHL-regulated. But this ice, slick and sharp under his skates, felt real to Tommy, bringing him back to hours spent in the winter on the frozen pond by his house, when he fell in love with it. 

There was nowhere else in the world where Tommy felt more at home than when he was on the ice.

There were only a few other people on the rink - a young boy working on some spins, a few toddlers who seemed to be taking lessons, and one or two others who looked like they just wanted to be out there skating, like Tommy did. He managed to not stand out, thankfully.

An hour passed quickly, and when an attendant started flagging the skaters down so they could clean the ice, Tommy made his way off the rink, stopping just short of the exit with a turn of his skates, slashing the ice up so it sprayed out from his stop. His blades left marks. 

He walked off the rink and sat on the bench out of the way where he'd shoved his duffel bag, the Bruins' emblem turned away from view. He bent over his knees, gingerly working the laces loose, and then pushed out of one skate, then the other. He stretched his legs out, curled his toes, then dug through his bag for his sneakers.

"Excuse me? I'm - uh, I'm sorry to bother you but - are you - um -?"

Tommy finished tying his laces and looked up to find a young girl, maybe she was 11 or 12, with dark braids hanging out from under a Bruins winter hat, at the end of the bench. He gave her a reassuring smile. "Yes?" 

"Are you Tommy Vietor?" she asked. "From the Bruins?"

He nodded and stood up. "Yeah, that's me."

Her face brightened, revealing a gap-tooth grin, her cheeks flushed. "That's-so-cool. I'm-a-huge-fan," she said in a rush. "I've loved-the-Bruins since forever. Like-since-I-was-born, really. My dad always says I came out cheering for the Bruins and-you're-my-favorite-player because I want to be a goalie too, I mean, I _am_ a goalie, too, on my team, but-you're-so-awesome. I can't believe you're here."

Tommy felt a rush of affection for the girl, who was practically bouncing with energy and excitement at meeting him. This was something he loved, meeting young fans who were passionate about hockey and looked up to him with big, awed eyes. "Thank you," he said. "Hey I think I have a puck in my bag somewhere, if you want it."

Her eyes, impossibly, got wider. "Really? I mean, if you do, but if you don't, that's okay too. I didn't - my dad told me not to bother you but he went to the bathroom and I couldn't help it. I'm sorry."

"I don't mind," Tommy told her. He lifted his duffel bag onto the bench and found a practice puck in one of the side pockets, along with a silver Sharpie. "Do you want me to sign it?"

"Oh my god would you? Thank you!"

"Of course. What's your name?" Tommy balanced the puck on his thigh as he uncapped the Sharpie.

"Natasha! I thought I told you -"

Tommy turned his head, letting his gaze linger maybe a moment too long on the man who clearly was the girl's father. They had the same lithe build, dark hair, though his was salt-and-pepper at the temples, the same gap between his front teeth. They locked eyes, and Tommy stood up straight but looked away first. He held out a hand. "I'm Tommy. Nice to meet you. I was just going to sign this puck for your daughter, is that all right?"

"Yeah, that's - fine. I, uh, told her not to bother you. I'm sorry about that," he said, taking Tommy's hand in a firm handshake. "Jon Favreau. Good to meet you, big fan." He smiled, cheeks flushed.

Tommy smiled back. He really didn't want to let go of his hand but also didn't think it was super appropriate to be salivating over a hot guy in front of his daughter at an ice rink in the middle of nowhere, Massachusetts. He pulled his hand away and went back to the puck. "Natasha, is it?" 

"Yeah," she said quickly. 

Tommy scribbled, glancing at Jon to find him watching him. He felt his cheeks grow hot at the sudden butterflies her dad was giving to him. He couldn't even think of the last time that happened, like a punch to his gut, knees weak, head swimming. He handed the puck to Natasha. "You said you play hockey?"

She lit up in that same way he remembered doing at that age, about hockey. Sometimes he still lit up like that, after a really great game. "Yes, I do! I play on an all boys team, actually, because they don't have girls' hockey here."

"You're the goalie on an all boys team?" Tommy asked, surprised.

She clutched the puck to her chest like it was the most precious thing ever. "Yeah."

Jon set his hand on Natasha's shoulder proudly. "Best goalie in the league."

"Da-ad," she whined, ducking her head. She pressed her nose into the side of his arm. "Stop."

He hugged her against his side. "We shouldn't take up anymore of your time, Mr. Vietor. Thanks again."

Tommy shook his head. "I don't mind at all." He turned his next question over in his mind a few times before deciding to ask it. "Any chance you have a game this weekend? I'd love to come watch." 

He didn't think it was possible for her to look anymore excited. "Really?" Natasha looked at her dad. "There's a game tomorrow, right?"

He nodded. "I don't think -"

Tommy touched Jon's arm, just briefly, to cut him off. "I'm in town until Tuesday and could use something to do." That isn't sitting in his hotel room, isn't icing his shoulder, isn't hovering around his sister and her new baby and fielding his mother's endless array of questions, but he didn't need to say any of that. "I definitely have time tomorrow for a hockey game."

"That's-so-cool!" Natasha exclaimed.

Tommy looked to Jon for the details. "Uh - the game's tomorrow at nine," he said. "Across town at the high school rink. It's a tournament play-in game."

"We're gonna win, I know it," Natasha interjected.

Tommy grinned. "Great. I can't make any promises, but I'll try to be there."

"Awesome," she breathed out suddenly. Her excitement was contagious. Tommy even saw the corner of Jon's mouth quirk up as he looked down at his daughter. He turned his head to catch Tommy's eye again.

"Well, I should - go. Good luck with your game tomorrow," Tommy said, slinging his duffel bag over his shoulder and smiling over at them both. "Have a good day."

"You too," Jon said.

"Bye!" Natasha waved as Tommy walked away. He focused on what was ahead of him, instead of turning back for another glance at the two of them. Or, really, just at Jon.

 

If there was one thing Tommy didn't want to do at a youth hockey game, it was draw attention to himself. After the game, depending, he might speak to the coach and see about meeting the team, but he didn't want to detract from what the kids were doing. And if he was noticed, that's what would happen. 

He arrived shortly after nine, after the game had started already, and ducked into the bleachers. He spotted Jon up at the top, bent forward with his elbows on his thighs, sitting apart from what looked like the rest of the players' parents.

Tommy strode up there and slid onto the bleacher beside him. "Hey," he greeted, adjusting his Red Sox ball cap. 

Jon sat up, surprised, face bright as he smiled. "Hey, man, I - well, honestly, I thought you were just being nice to Natasha and wouldn't show up at all."

He shrugged, shook his head. "Nah, I just wanted to wait for the game to start before I came in. Better chance of not being noticed that way. Is she in goal?" It was a relatively dumb question, seeing as a quick glance between the far goalie and the near one showed that the near one was significantly smaller and had braids flapping out from under her face mask. 

Jon nodded. "Yeah. She's already made three saves."

"Nice," Tommy said. He sat back, head against the cold wall, and rubbed his jeans, focusing on the game. He didn't want to distract Jon from watching his daughter, of course. Even though getting to know Jon was, really, the reason he was here. 

Besides pre-approved team photo opps and the officially-sanctioned youth training camps and skates, Tommy didn't really get much of a chance to do this, to enjoy youth hockey. It was slower than the NHL, obviously, and slower too than college, high school, even some of the traveling teams he'd been on when he was young. But he could still pick out where the talent was. Natasha was one of those talents, he could tell, the moment she made a save by catching the puck in her glove and barely moving otherwise.

Tommy let out a breath between his teeth. "How long has she been playing?" he asked.

Jon didn't move his eyes from the ice, the game action, as he talked. "Hockey? This is her second full season. It was hard to find somewhere that let her play with the boys. She's been skating since she was two and we initially signed her up for figure skating. I know, I know," he said, shaking his head. "Gender stereotypes and all. She decided she wanted to play hockey after I took her to her first Bruins game." 

When he turned to look at Tommy, Tommy looked away, not wanting to be caught staring at the side of Jon's face, the way his jaw moved as he spoke, the long line of his throat. "Hockey's a great sport," he said, clearing his throat. "There are a lot more opportunities for girls in it now than there used to be."

Jon nodded. "Yeah, I just - want her to find something she loves and do it, and right now that's hockey." He smiled as he spoke, and Tommy could see the love he had for Natasha on his face. But he didn't want to talk about Natasha, or hockey. 

"So, uh - what, do you do, Jon? I mean, you know I play hockey. What about you?"

Jon sat back, rubbed the back of his neck. "I teach," he said. "College. Composition and speech and debate. It's good because I can make my own schedule, make sure I have time for Natasha, and I can be around when she is. It's just the two of us, and I don't want to be the type of single parent who never sees his kid or dumps her off at her grandparents' all the time."

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask where Natasha's mother was. "That's good," Tommy said. "I'm sure she appreciates that."

"I'm doing my best," Jon said. He turned and looked at Tommy, his tongue wetting his lower lip. Tommy didn't think he imagined Jon glancing at Tommy's mouth. His fingers curled against the side of his leg and he turned his attention back to the game. "So uh - aren't the Bruins out west this weekend?" He asked it like he wasn't sure he should.

Tommy grimaced. "Yeah. I - messed up my shoulder doing something stupid and the trainer wanted me to take a break." It wasn't anything more than Jon could get looking through team chatter and social media, though it hadn't really been made public. "And I have some family things in the area. My sister just had a baby, so I'm - I'm trying to spend some time over there."

"Ah," Jon said. "Congratulations."

"Thanks."

They watched the rest of the first period in relative silence. Tommy noticed that Jon wasn't very vocal as he watched the game, even when Natasha made saves. He gave grunt and a fist pump, but it wasn't as animated or loud as some of the other parents, especially those on the other team. Tommy didn't often get a chance to watch people watching a hockey game, seeing as he was usually in goal, a direct part of the action. And his attention needed to be on what was happening in front of him. 

Jon was a nervous parent in the stands, and Tommy liked watching him watch. Jon's hands clenched against his thighs, his head jerking imperceptibly at movement on the ice. He mumbled thoughts and reactions under his breath. Tommy alternated between watching the game and watching Jon, the latter more often. He was incapable of being subtle about it, too. 

When the buzzer sounded at the end of a scoreless first period, Jon's entire body relaxed.

Tommy touched his elbow, just for a moment. "She's good," he said. "Really good."

Jon breathed out and smiled, wide and bright. "Yeah, she is. Hey, uh - can I get you a soda or a donut or something?" He was already standing up. "I need to get up and walk around anyway, so -"

Tommy thought it might be better if he didn't get up and chance being recognized. "Oh, yeah, water and a donut are great. Here, let me -" He started to reach for his wallet but Jon stopped him with a hand to the shoulder.

"My treat. I'll be right back."

Tommy leaned back and watched Jon jog down the bleachers. He caught himself staring and shook his head, rubbed his eyes. He only had a few days to get his head on straight, time he should be spending with his family instead of at a youth hockey game only so he could get to know a single dad who probably - likely - wasn't interested in him. He had to meet up with the team again on Wednesday, get in for his appointment with the trainer. He took a moment to rotate his shoulder, pressing his finger against his collarbone, wincing. It was fine, he told himself. He just needed to ice it that night and it would be fine.

Jon smiled as he returned with a bottle of water and the choice of two donuts. He sat back down next to Tommy, close enough that their legs brushed together and stayed that way, as the second period got underway.

 

"I can't believe you came!" Natasha exclaimed, trudging up to where Tommy waited with Jon, under the weight of her bag, skates hooked over her shoulder. "Wow." She had that look that any athlete got after a win, the wide-eyed, flushed, exhausted look. "Did you like it? How did I do?"

"Natasha, easy with the questions," Jon said, but he was laughing as he reached for her bag and stick to unload her.

Tommy smiled. "You did great, really. I know you're probably beating yourself up for that goal you let past you -" She narrowed her eyes, furrowed her brow, and frowned with her lower lip worrying between her teeth, and he knew he was right. "- but - I know it's hard to get that sort of thing out of your mind." It had been a breakaway and, honestly, she should have stopped the goal especially when she'd stopped so many other more difficult shots on goal, but it happened to the best of them. "Sometimes the hardest ones to stop are the ones right in front of you. I know I've done it a _lot_. You can't let it get to you."

She managed a smile. "Yeah, I know. Just - it would have been really cool to have a shut-out, is all."

"It always is," Tommy agreed. 

"And I mean, we still won. Sometimes I don't like the fact that I can't score goals myself, but I know my job is even better. I don't think anyone else on the ice is as important as the goalie." She said it so confidently, so defiantly, and it mirrored something that Tommy had spent years turning over in his head as well. When he made the move into the goalie position, not until high school, he hadn't been so sure it was for him. In the many years since, however - 

He leaned in toward Natasha like they were sharing a secret. "Just don't let anyone else on your team in on that. You'll hurt the center's feelings."

She giggled and Jon laughed too, throwing his head back and shaking with it, even if it wasn't as good of a joke as warranted all that.

Natasha flicked her attention from Tommy to Jon, who turned away from looking at Tommy, clearing his throat. "Do you wanna come to our house for dinner? It's taco night and Dad makes the best pico."

Tommy shifted his shoulders back and glanced toward Jon, looking for a reaction that would tell Tommy if the invitation was also extended through him, if Jon _wanted_ Tommy to go over for dinner. And not in the polite way, even though Tommy suspected that Jon was going be polite and say that Tommy didn't have to.

Which - "Oh, Natasha, I'm sure that he has better things to do." - but his tongue flicked out against the corner of his mouth and he rubbed his thumb across his knuckles. He looked anywhere but at Tommy before lifting his chin and meeting his gaze. 

Tommy liked what he saw. "Actually, I'm free this evening. If - you want me to come. I can bring dessert." He had no idea where he was going to get dessert, but that was something to figure out later.

"Yes! Yes, please come."

"Natasha," Jon said.

She gave him a batted eyelashes look, and even Tommy was affected and she wasn't his daughter.

"Oh, fine. I can't think of any reason not to," he looked at Tommy, "if you want to."

"I do," Tommy said, the words catching in his throat and coming up hoarsely. He coughed. "Dinner sounds great."

Natasha clapped and then high-fived Tommy and Jon. "Come over any time you can, but we usually eat at like six _exactly_ and I make fake margaritas too but I guess you and Dad could drink the real ones if you want."

Jon leaned in towards Tommy, their shoulders touching. "Can I have your number?" he asked, cheeks red. "So I can uh - text you the details and our address."

Tommy grinned. "Of course." He gave it to him, said goodbye to them both, then headed for his car with a spring in his step.

 

After a delicious dinner of tacos -

("It's do-it-yourself! See, 'cause I hate cilantro but Dad says it's not a taco without it, so you don't have to put it on if you don't want it," Natasha explained.

\- some of the best pico Tommy had ever tasted -

("I'm not just being nice, it really is amazing, Jon," Tommy said, face flushed from his margarita and his proximity to Jon.)

\- and so much hockey conversation that Jon appeared to be getting bored -

("Not bored, keep talking. Just don't know as much about it as you both do," Jon insisted, but he was clearly fiddling with his phone under the table.)

\- Natasha disappeared into her bedroom with some excuse about doing homework and Tommy and Jon moved into the living room. It was a cozy room with a couch and an easy chair and Tommy made the decision to sit on the far end of the couch, cautiously hopeful that Jon might join him.

He did, sitting on the other end, ankle crossed over his knee, arm stretched out along the arm of the couch. "I'm pretty sure she finished all of her homework already," he said, sounding more at ease now with two margaritas down. He smiled at Tommy, head tilted to the side.

"Ah," Tommy said, because he didn't know what that meant. He looked down at the glass of water he held between his hands. Were they being set up? Did Jon want to be alone with him? Was Natasha playing matchmaker? Did 12-year-olds do things like that for their hot single dads? 

Jon listed a bit towards Tommy. "It was really nice of you to come to her game, and to dinner tonight. It really meant a lot to Natasha." There might have been an unspoken, 'to me, too' but Tommy didn't want to read too much into it.

Tommy reached out and set his water on the coffee table, turning to better face Jon. "It was fun. I - had fun. It's been a while since I've had the chance to do anything like this. Usually my days are structured and scheduled down to the second. This was - refreshing."

"I bet it's hard to find time for yourself during the season." Jon thumbed the side of the pillow he was squashed against.

That was an understatement. "All year, really," he said. "Between training and conditioning and press appearances and games and -" He stopped, shook his head a little. "Sorry, we've had enough hockey talk today. Why don't we talk about you?"

Jon blushed from his cheekbones down the sides of his neck. "Not much to say, at least nothing as exciting as your life, I'm sure. It's just me and Natasha, has been since her mother left about - ten years ago. I - was in politics there for a while. I worked for President Obama when he was a senator but ended up leaving when Natasha was born."

"Wow," Tommy said. "That might be the only career more fast-paced than professional sports." A twinge in his shoulder made Tommy reach up to rub it gently.

"Maybe, but I didn't stick with it very long." Jon said, shrugging. He glanced at Tommy, biting his lip between his teeth. "I hope everything's okay with your shoulder," Jon reached out like he was going to touch Tommy but let his hand fall to his knee instead. 

"Yeah, it's fine. Just tight, needed a few games off. I'm only not traveling with the team because of my sister's baby. It was - touch and go and I wanted to be here for it."

Jon nodded, but he looked concerned anyway. "I'm glad it's nothing serious."

"Me, too," Tommy said softly, incapable of not lowering his gaze to Jon's lips, taking a moment in his margarita and taco haze to wonder what might happen if he kissed Jon, if it would be accepted or if it was wanted.

Jon's hand came down on Tommy's thigh as he leaned in closer. "Am I reading this wrong?" he asked.

Tommy shook his head. "No, not at all."

It wasn't clear which of them moved first, but they met in the middle, Tommy's mouth sliding against Jon's. The sigh slipped out at the warmth, the fact that he could taste the lime and salt on Jon's lips. When Jon's palm came up to cup Tommy's jaw, he leaned into it. He leaned into Jon, steadying them both with his hands on his shoulders, inching their way around his back, pulling himself closer.

This is what he'd be thinking about since first looking up and seeing Jon walking toward him at the ice rink. He just didn't think it would actually happen, and yet here he was.

Jon's shoulders relaxed under Tommy's touch as he maneuvered Jon onto his lap, strong thigh stretched out against Tommy's hip, other knee pressed into the back of the couch under Tommy. Half in Jon's lap and half in Tommy's, they tangled as easily against each other as their mouths moved in solid strokes too. Jon's fingers pressed into a spot behind Tommy's ear that made him groan, the kiss broken for the moment. 

Tommy scratched at the back of Jon's neck and leaned his forehead against Jon's to catch his breath. "This is good," he whispered, and Jon pressed his parted lips against the corner of Tommy's mouth, down his jaw, along the side of his neck. "Really good."

"Mmn," came Jon's response, which Tommy took to be agreement and then let his eyes slip closed and all of his attention focused on the way Jon's hot mouth felt on his skin.

It'd been a while since Tommy did this. In his early days in the NHL it was one thing, messing around, picking up. With women though, always. The last time he was with a guy was over five years ago, a teammate, discreet and - secret. Tommy got tired of sneaking around; Alexei wasn't ready for anything different. It ended when Alexei was traded, moved to Florida. 

Tommy got a hand under the neck of Jon's shirt so he could touch bare skin, feel Jon's muscles ripple under his fingers. He nudged his chin against the side of Jon's head until he looked up and Tommy could kiss him again, more deeply, urgently. His hand dragged down the line of Jon's throat, against his bare collarbone. Jon's hands pressed into Tommy's back until he moved forward, their chests pressed together.

He could do this forever, he thought, could make out with Jon on the couch in his living room. They were interrupted, however, by a commotion, loud stomping and banging on the staircase. 

Jon pulled back, flinching. He swept the back of his wrist across his mouth and swore under his breath.

Tommy swallowed and moved to sit back, further away from Jon, pressing his palms hard against his thighs in an effort to relax. "Is your daughter announcing herself because she thinks she'd interrupt something?" he asked.

"She is interrupting something," Jon pointed out.

Tommy looked at him.

He shrugged. "She called me out earlier for flirting with you," he said. "And she's been trying to set me up with everyone she likes since she was ten, so I'm not really surprised."

"Dad, I can't find my science book," came a call from safely in the kitchen. "Is it out there? I don't want to interrupt."

Jon dropped his face into his hand, shoulders shaking a little with a quiet disbelief of laughter. "You're not interrupting anything," he said. He glanced at the coffee table. "And yeah, it's out here."

Natasha appeared, a disappointed frown crossing her face. "Oh, okay. Uh - cool. I'll just get this and go back to my room." She scooped up the book and looked at the both of them for a moment, eyes narrow. "You know, in case you want to keep talking or whatever." She was gone again before either of them could say anything else.

"I thought you said she finished her homework on Friday," Tommy said.

Jon shook his head. "She did. This was her checking in to see if I made a move."

"Ah," Tommy said, "well, you did."

"Yeah," Jon said, his gaze dropping back to Tommy's mouth. "Do you want to stay the night?" Jon blurted out, sucking in a breath after the words were out of his mouth, as though he could suck them back in right away. His face was red.

Tommy knew his face was red too. "Uh …" To be frank, and he wasn't sure the best way to put this, he wasn't sure he wanted to stay there night when Jon's kid was here, but at the same time, he really wanted to spend the night. 

"Sorry," Jon said quickly. "That was - probably inappropriate of me. Look, I -"

Tommy caught his hand in his, pressed his thumb into his palm and held it between them. "I want to but I - would it be okay to say that I don't want this to be a one-time thing? And that invitation sounds like maybe you think it might be."

Jon's eyes widened a little and he nodded. "That is what I was assumed, yeah."

This was new for Tommy, and he knew it wouldn't be easy. "I'd like to see you again," he said. "More than again, if you're interested." Jon didn't say anything for a moment, nodding as he looked at Tommy. "We don't have to rush into anything and I should make it clear that I'm not into sneaking around, which makes things more complicated considering my life."

"I didn't know you were out," Jon said quietly. 

Tommy shrugged. "I'm not, but if this means I have to make some kind of public statement, then I will." He leaned his shoulder more into the back of the couch, twined his fingers through Jon's. "Are you out?"

Jon nodded. "Yeah."

"Okay," Tommy said, his mouth going into a smile without him trying. He breathed out - relief? excitement? anticipation? - and squeezed Jon's hand. "Okay, so let's try this. I'm in if you are."

In reply, Jon cupped Tommy's cheek and kissed him again, slowly.

 

Just over a week later, Jon texted Tommy to say he was going to be in Boston overnight, without Natasha, and would he like to get a drink or a late dinner or whatever, really, after the Bruins game. Tommy replied that a ticket would be waiting for him at will call and that yes, _something_ after the game, please. Honestly, Tommy hoped that something might just be the two of them back at his apartment with a beer and each other.

It wasn't nearly as difficult to concentrate on the game as Tommy thought it would be, knowing Jon was there. It was made easier by the fact that Jon's seat was just in Tommy's line of vision, near the Bruins' bench. 

It should have been distracting, but instead Tommy found himself with the urge to play harder, to be better, knowing that Jon was right there watching him. Of course, the moment the first period ended and Tommy skated for the locker room, he took the opportunity to give Jon an appraising look from behind the safety of his goalie mask. Jon looked right back at him.

The game was good. The Bruins won 3-1 in regulation, and Tommy put up an above-average performance but nothing spectacular. Still, a win was a win, and giving up only one goal was better than giving up a lot of them, like he had done his first game back on the ice a week ago. 

He checked his phone after he finished his shower, standing in front of his locker, towel around his hips, ice pack taped down on his shoulder. _Great game,_ Jon had texted _Can't wait to see you._ Tommy grinned and sent a message back, telling him to go to the players' entrance, that Tommy would meet him there in ten.

He got dressed quickly, got rid of the ice on his shoulder, and hurried for the door. One of his teammates, Henri, caught up to him. "Hey man, haven't said it yet but I'm glad you're back on the ice. Wasn't the same without you."

Tommy smiled at him. "Thanks. Just needed to clear my head, get my shoulder working again. Didn't want to be away for long, you know?"

"Yeah, that's how I felt last year when I broke a rib. It was awful." Henri pushed open the outside door, held it open as Tommy walked out. "Do you want to get a drink or something?"

Jon was waiting for him, leaning against the wall, one leg bent foot against the wall. He was playing with his phone but looked up when the door opened. He smiled when Tommy met his eyes. "Hey."

Tommy smiled right back then turned to Henri. "Rain check on that? I've got plans."

Henri nodded, looking between the two of them with an unreadable but not negative expression. He smiled after a second. "Yeah, of course, no problem. See you later, man. Have a good time."

"Night, Henri." But Tommy's attention was already pretty focused on Jon. He stepped toward Jon, shifting his bag back a little bit. "Hey. I'm glad you could make it."

"It was fun. I haven't been down here for a game in a while. Definitely never had a seat as good as that one." He fell into step beside Tommy, their shoulders brushing. Tommy itched to reach out and take his hand, but it was too early in their relationship for that, he thought. "Is there somewhere you wanted to go?"

"We can just go back to my place," Tommy said.

Jon let out a breathy laugh. "I was hoping you'd say that."

 

The moment the door shut, Tommy pushed Jon's back against it and kissed him, long and heated. He shrugged his duffel off his shoulder, dropping it on the floor as Jon's hands came up the sides of his neck, thumbs pressed into his jaw. Tommy had about an inch and a half on Jon, and the slightly up-tipped angle of Jon's face was perfect. So was the way their mouths fit together, Jon's hands on Tommy's face, his fingers scratching into Jon's hair.

"All I could think about the entire game was getting my hands on you," Jon said, tearing his mouth away from Tommy's for only as long as it took to get those words out. 

Tommy nodded. "I know. I shouldn't have put you in my line of sight."

They kissed again, slowing down slightly as the realization settled in that they had the time and wouldn't have any interruptions. Tommy moved his hands into Jon's jacket and pushed it off his shoulders. He wanted to - he _needed_ to - touch him better. "Couch," he muttered, fingers at Jon's belt, tugging him while walking backwards, not ready to stop kissing him just yet.

"Good idea," Jon said. They stumbled together onto the couch, leaving a trail of jackets and shoes and - Tommy's shirt came off, too. Jon pressed Tommy underneath him, a knee between Tommy's thighs, and Tommy let him have control, shivered under it.

"God, look at us," Tommy laughed, hands roaming, rucking Jon's shirt up and over his head. "Grown men making out like teenagers."

"Not big on foreplay?" Jon asked, opening his mouth against Tommy's collarbone and then moving wetly down his chest. He lifted his face, chin just above Tommy's belly button, and grinned at him.

Tommy groaned. "No, I -" He reached out and threaded his fingers into Jon's hair. "I'm just impatient."

Jon's tongue swept out against Tommy's rib cage. "Mmn." Lower, his fingers worked open Tommy's jeans. "Then let's get to the good stuff." When he dipped his mouth lower, across Tommy's abs, he leaned his head back against the arm of the couch and moaned.

 

Later, Tommy stretched out beside Jon, their bare skin hot and sticky against one another's. He sat up, leaning on his elbow, and opened his palm against Jon's chest. He moved his thumb casually against Jon's nipple, smiled when Jon moaned and turned to look up at him. "Hey."

The kind of lazy, satiated smile that settled onto Jon's face made Tommy's stomach flip. "Hey." He bent his head to press a kiss to Jon's shoulder. "Can I tell you a secret?"

"Mmn, what's that?" Jon's hand came up to stroke Tommy's hip. 

"I really like you." He ducked his head, his cheeks warm with the admission.

Jon hummed a little, eyes half closed. "That's good because I really like you too." He lifted himself up off the bed and met Tommy for a simple, quiet kiss. His grip against Tommy's hip tightened slightly as he steadied them both.

Tommy sighed as he pulled back. "I'm really glad your daughter came up to talk to me at the rink."

"I've never been happier for her to disobey me." Jon kissed him again and pulled Tommy back down onto the bed, until, tangled together, they fell asleep.


End file.
